Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Charles Wolfe. 17911823604. To Mary
IF I had thought thou couldst have died, | |
I might not weep for thee; | |
But I forgot, when by thy side, | |
That thou couldst mortal be: | |
It never through my mind had past | 5 |
The time would e’er be o’er, | |
And I on thee should look my last, | |
And thou shouldst smile no more! | |
And still upon that face I look, | |
And think ’twill smile again; | 10 |
And still the thought I will not brook, | |
That I must look in vain. | |
But when I speak—thou dost not say | |
What thou ne’er left’st unsaid; | |
And now I feel, as well I may, | 15 |
Sweet Mary, thou art dead! | |
If thou wouldst stay, e’en as thou art, | |
All cold and all serene— | |
I still might press thy silent heart, | |
And where thy smiles have been. | 20 |
While e’en thy chill, bleak corse I have, | |
Thou seemest still mine own; | |
But there—I lay thee in thy grave, | |
And I am now alone! | |
I do not think, where’er thou art, | 25 |
Thou hast forgotten me; | |
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart | |
In thinking too of thee: | |
Yet there was round thee such a dawn | |
Of light ne’er seen before, | 30 |
As fancy never could have drawn, | |
And never can restore! |